


video games

by silkroe



Series: love to hate you [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Explicit Language, Face-Fucking, Gaming, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24873910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkroe/pseuds/silkroe
Summary: Eren becomes obsessed with a popular indie horror game, and Jean finds a way to deal with it. In which Jean makes a deal to get his boyfriend to be quiet but naturally makes the whole situation worse.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Eren Yeager
Series: love to hate you [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795963
Comments: 5
Kudos: 140





	video games

**Author's Note:**

> Hooray for more domestic erejean! This spiel is a half-baked way for me to deal with writer’s block I’m currently experiencing writing full-on angst. It turned out smuttier and more pwpy than I originally intended, aha…
> 
> Loosely based off of 11 Drunk Guys Play Outlast: Whistleblower because I can’t play horror games for shit, but this prompt really spoke to my erejean heart. Thank you AoT kinkmeme!

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck!”_

Jean has long since grown used to hearing his boyfriend scream in the otherwise dead of night. It’s part of his charm, really—among other things. But this unrestrained outburst is his second escapade in a row, and if Jean has to apologize one more time to his neighbors for the epic unconcern Eren shows them at this hour, he’s going to snap. Almost slipping on shower tiles in his rush, cotton bathrobe barely covering drenched body, he all but stomps into his tiny excuse of a living room where Eren is sat on his couch, Xbox controller in hand and lips drawn back in a snarl.

Oh, this again. “You’re _still_ playing that stupid game?” Jean makes his way across the room to plop next to Eren on the couch, hot droplets spilling from ash blond strands onto Eren’s borrowed shirt as he leans heavily on his shoulder.

 _“Yes,_ because I can’t get past this _one fucking sequence,”_ Eren growls. He frees a hand to push Jean’s face away. “Get off me, you’re wet.”

Jean abides only a tad begrudgingly and regards the mini TV set upon an equally cheap media table, almost as low to the ground as they are on the couch. The first-person player Eren controls is at the moment experiencing a cat and mouse chase courtesy of a crazed wedding suit-wearing lunatic, sight illuminated by a viewfinder’s pitiful light. _Outlast._ Eren treats this one particular game as if it were an abusive lover, screaming his head off whenever he plays, throwing the controller at the wall seething in frustration (Jean has had to buy three new controllers specifically for Eren, who has had the game for only two weeks now), but always coming back for more.

“ _Outlast_ again? Give it a rest, Eren.”

“Shh, shut _up,”_ Eren demands, gaze glued to the screen, fervent and focused. Jean contents himself by rolling his eyes and he leans back, watching as Eren rounds a corner just to be ambushed by the groom maniac who proceeds to strangle Eren’s character and gut him with a thin blade in manic delight. Eren yelps, jumping in his seat before he regains the ability to curse his failure. _“Dammit!”_

“Eren, you need to tone it down, it’s 3 a.m.,” Jean reminds him, accompanied by a nudge as Eren throws his head back on the couch in muffled defeat.

“It’s _Whistleblower.”_

“What?”

“I finished _Outlast._ This is the expansion pack, _Outlast: Whistleblower.”_

Fantastic, another game that will take Eren a million years to finish because he’s positively hopeless at video gaming, says he never played them growing up. It’s like he’s trying to make up for lost time now at Jean’s expense. Jean—being himself—can’t help but think it’s rather endearing, so he lets Eren get away with it, images of a child-sized Eren pouting as he passed local GameStops by on the street nagging at his conscience. But Jean needs to put his foot down somehow, or the complaints he gets about his boyfriend might escalate from petty comments grumbled in his direction as he goes to take out the trash to something a little more serious; irrationally, a bright and shiny eviction notice occupies his mind’s eye.

“What if I got you past this sequence?” Jean attempts, and for added effect he grasps Eren’s bare thigh and gives a hopeful squeeze. He’s learned that being handsy with Eren is in general a failsafe course of action.

That, like clockwork, succeeds in garnering Eren’s attention. He shoots up straight and pushes the long hair obstructing his view behind a studded ear to regard Jean, a premature smirk dancing on his lips. “What, are we making this a competition?”

Although nothing of the sort had come to mind, _really,_ Jean is always down for a bit of one-upmanship—especially when it involves innuendos—and he takes the proposition in stride. Eren, the fucking devil he is, never fails to be cluelessly seductive in little gestures and drops in tone that Jean is at least ninety-five percent positive are subliminal. Grabbing the controller from Eren he responds low and freshly galvanized, “What are the stakes?”

“Whoever beats the game gets to do whatever they want tonight,” Eren suggests, laying back again and lacing his hands behind his head. A languid picture of ironic confidence.

“You’re on.”

Jean has never played _Outlast_ before, but he’s watched Eren go at it in earnest enough to grasp how the controls work. Besides that, Jean’s a veteran video game connoisseur—years of _Black Ops_ will do that to you, or so he thinks anyway. But the action sequence Eren is stuck on is frustratingly long and intricate, and it’s going to take more than one round to get past it fresh to the game. He realizes so when he’s caught within fifteen seconds of running around fruitlessly in the dark. The lighting of the video camera lens his character uses is just awful (Eren why the _fuck_ is the battery fully depleted), the enemy’s reach and scope is annoyingly overpowered, and he has no idea where he’s supposed to hide or which objects are interactive. He and Eren switch back and forth for a good half hour before Jean starts getting the hang of it.

During one of Eren’s tumultuous turns, Jean makes a hasty, unplanned trip to and from the fridge, procuring four richly cold canned beers spurned by the lightbulb idea that maybe the alcohol will help dull his nerves while also impeding Eren’s playing ability to an even worse caliber. It’s the cheap shit his mom buys for him, prefaced by her assertion that if Jean is going to drink he should do it at his place where it’s safe—not that her caution is ever heeded. But even cheap big batch beer gets the job done, and after much gulping and dying and forgetting to be quiet because the jump scares are more hilarious than anything now that they’re tipsy, well…they’re tipsy.

“Go left there, _go left there!”_ Eren’s no longer trying to act cool and composed. He’s grabbing on to Jean’s shoulder and shaking, and in a heave Eren succeeds in yanking half his robe clean off as Jean fumbles with the controls, pulse pounding in his temple.

To be completely honest, Jean has never been a fan of horror games, and this one really ups the ante in adrenaline production with its chilling atmosphere and abhorrent context. The sight of random bodies ripped to shreds every other hallway doesn’t do much good for his heart. Still, the stakes are high tonight, and in his buzzy haze he dashes left with success, his hold on the controller subconsciously following the movement as he saves himself from punching Eren in the face by the skin of his teeth.

“What do I do oh my god we’ve never made it this far holy fuck Eren what do I do,” Jean spits a mile a minute—the alcohol has definitely gotten to him, and although he’s asking Eren for his opinion his mind is racing on its own and in the fading light of the viewfinder he spots it, an interactive locker. He bolts for it and slams himself inside with the metallic clang of animated metal, breathless and sweaty as hyper hands almost shake the controller out of his grip.

Absolute silence surrounds as they size up where they stand. Then—

 _“I did it,”_ Jean breathes, and he shoots a triumphant grin at Eren, bragging rights secured. “I _did it—”_

“Jean, you assface, look,” Eren interrupts, Jean sees he’s not looking at him but at the TV, and he prods him in rough notice with one hand and points at the screen with the other. “You didn’t.”

 _“Huh?_ But—” Oh, but Eren is right. The outlet of this particular locker is different, dented wider than the others, and suddenly all he can manage to do is look around the interior of this iron cage: a cutscene. Sure enough, the groom maniac (he’s since learned and forgotten that the character’s name is Eddie Gluskin) peeps in from the other side of the locker, coos at him like one would to a longtime lover. Somehow, that tickles Eren senseless and he’s clutching his sides as their character’s safe haven turned coffin is wrenched to the ground, dragged across the floor in a feat of insane strength. Makes sense.

 _“Here we go,”_ Gluskin soothes, tender and soft like he isn’t covered in blood and filth and _definitely_ isn’t taking Jean to his impending doom.

Howls erupt from beside him, and if Jean wasn’t halfway drunk right now he would remember they’re supposed to be quiet, that was the whole point of this stupid little back and forth, but he _is_ sort of drunk so he just lets Eren deafen him. “Looks like—Mr. Groom—is fucking you—tonight—Jean,” Eren manages in stuttered gasps between bouts of laughter.

Jean is no longer watching the cutscene; instead, he absorbs the sight of his beautiful boyfriend laughing as if he’s never seen him laugh before, head tipped back and eyes shut tight, more hearty and satisfying than the beer that warms his face now, picturesque and imperfect and whole. His, he thinks with warmth in his chest. He reaches under that dark curtain of hair to cup the damp skin of his nape and pulls, magnetism and familiarity guiding their lips together as Eren finally shuts up and opens himself into Jean.

Eren tastes of cigarettes and Coors, and Jean has been tasting a lot of that lately, hasn’t he? Not that he’s complaining, no; quite the contrary, he adores the sounds Eren makes for him while he sucks on his tongue, teeth pressing hard enough to hurt, curling a fist in tangles of hair and pulling in a way that makes weaker strands snap between his fingers. Heat coils in his belly as he moans, too, and even if they’ve kissed a thousand times by now each one feels anew—cherished, never taken for granted.

He decides that maybe he’s addicted to this as he pulls back nice and slow to observe the bloom of pink that dusts high cheekbones and nose alike. He and Eren lick their lips in unison and that elicits a delicate and private laugh from the both of them, and Jean goes in once more for a simple peck, all the while cupping the sides of Eren’s face to rub tender fingers there, coveting him.

They separate once more, eyes level, huffs of warm breath shared between them. “So…are we gonna get back to playing the game?” asks Eren close to deadpan, eyes flicking towards the TV.

Jean can’t help but fall back and groan. He thought he had him there. _“God_ Eren, read the fucking room.” There’s no sincerity to his gripe. They made a bet, after all.

“Hey, we made a _bet.”_

The smile that Jean bares is wide and proud, telltale of undeniable affection.

 _Whistleblower_ enraptures them once again, and the scene on display before them is, well…so horrific on several levels it makes Eren giggle some more, awash and buzzy in the awkwardness of it all. Jean is sure they missed some context but he’s still in the locker, thank fuck, he hasn’t been thrust back into gameplay yet. But his view of a fellow asylum patient strapped to a table spread eagle in something like the groom’s death chamber getting stabbed in the groin again and again and _again,_ the helpless character writhing and screaming in tangible agony, forces Jean’s eyes open wide. Right, Eren _enjoys_ playing these games.

“What the fuck, Eren?”

“Look, it’s _interesting.”_

“Interesting _how?”_

“You know, the concepts of insanity, morality, mortality.”

“Getting stabbed in the ass ten times accounts for all of that?”

“Just shut up and play before I stab _you_ in the ass ten times.”

They watch in uncomfortable anticipation as Eddie kills more patients in various and creative demonstrations, Eren rapt in the gore, Jean mildly sickened by it. For good measure and before the cutscene is finished, he delivers them both another beer each.

Finally, it’s Jean’s character’s turn (Payton? Trayvon? Waylon? Jean thinks his name is Waylon) to be fixed to the table, nothing more than a mere specimen ready without consent to be dissected in a particularly gruesome manner. He’s to be sawed from the bottom up, from the looks of it. Jean feels some phantom of a tremor run through his own lower body at the very thought. A glance to Eren finds no negative effect there. Jean is glad Eren just sucks at gaming because otherwise this would be too ridiculously easy for him. He supposes being polar opposites in this sort of predicament is to his advantage.

Out of nowhere, some other asylum patient bursts into view to his unexpected rescue, the sudden ambush on Gluskin allowing Waylon to free himself from the table contraption. Jean breathes an inward sigh of relief; there will be no sawing balls in half tonight. Eren complains dryly about deus ex machinas as Waylon clothes himself (ah, right, he’d been stripped and they’d been forced to stare at two dimensional dick for a minute there) and then Jean is back to fumbling and ducking around in the dark because apparently Gluskin stole his video camera too, the thorough bastard.

“Well this is boring,” Eren proclaims, arms crossed in that stubborn way he has. “No wonder the DLC flopped in sales.”

“You actually look into that stuff?” Jean asks as he bursts into a gymnasium full of mutilated bodies hanging from the ceiling. Either the beer is doing its job well or he’s getting used to this horror shit.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“You’re so weird,” Jean huffs, leaning onto Eren once more. He doesn’t push Jean away this time, so Jean allows himself to stew in the gross romanticism of fleeing from rogue asylum patients as he shares skinship with his boyfriend.

Miraculously, the game has become leagues easier now that Jean is less uncomfortable with the carnage of it all; he ignores the fact that maybe it’s just because the music has become muffled and there’s no mood set to spook him anymore. Yeah, playing horror games in alcohol-suppressed volume is the way to go, except it’s not really quiet because Eren is still poking loud fun at him and sometimes _actually_ poking him to get a rise out of Jean, as he does.

“Quit it,” Jean chides after another round of Eren attacking his side with an index finger. His instigator is absolutely loving this, despite his complaints.

Eren cries, “You _suck,_ shake him off!” as Jean allows Waylon to be hoisted to the ceiling, courtesy of a rope around his neck that Gluskin so graciously tied. Sure enough, he’s prompted to wrench himself free with his controller, and he does just that as Eren wriggles against him in real time. Once again, Eren is groaning about plot convenience when Waylon frees himself and somehow catches Gluskin in his own trap, sucking him up to the ceiling to be hanged in his place.

“No, for real, what the fuck was that?” Jean looks over to Eren expecting a pout but finding a heavy frown instead. He really takes the strangest things seriously.

Jean nudges him in good sport. “C’mon, it’s just a stupid game.”

“That’s horrible writing! At least let us stab him or something.”

“By us you mean me, right? I’ve been doing the heavy lifting here,” Jean reminds, and Eren mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like _“conceited douchecanoe”_ under his breath, and Jean lets that one slide because if the lack of any new crazed pursuers has anything to say, it looks like he’s nearly beaten the game and won the bet that even the blur of alcohol couldn’t cause him to forget.

There’s a bit of Jean wandering through empty rooms trying to find his way out of this maze of an endgame, Eren all the while directing him where to go with an edge of annoyance (how is _Jean_ supposed to remember that this is the same map layout as the first game if he never _played it?)._ Another close shave with death by way of a random guy shanking Waylon only to be grotesquely ripped limb from limb by some phantom callback to the original _Outlast,_ Jean finally sees daylight once more, freed of that virtual breeding ground of nightmare fodder.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jean chuckles as he climbs into an obvious red getaway Jeep, “ _now_ I did it.”

“Whateverrr,” Eren slurs, and he kicks back the last dregs of his now lukewarm beer to punctuate his loss. “I was just gonna have you ride me.” Jean suppresses a scoff at Eren’s trademark tendency for the unoriginal. “Your plan better be fun.”

“Oh, it will be,” Jean promises, and he hooks an arm around Eren’s neck, drawing him close. “You’re not getting away from me tonight,” he continues into Eren’s hair. Not that he often does. Jean’s not paying attention to the game anymore, doesn’t care about uploading whatever footage Waylon got of the asylum to “VIRALeaks.”

“So what are we gonna—”

Jean does indeed have a plan, newly hatched, something he hadn’t considered while he was busy fleeing from cartoon lunatics. But surprise happens to be one of its merits. Eren has no time to talk as Jean’s hand is already up Eren’s shirt, seeking out a raised nipple that he pinches hard the way he knows he likes, rolling it just so between his fingers, and he feels Eren erupt in a shudder against him.

Dislodging his other arm from his hold on Eren, he pushes him backwards onto the couch to better position them both. For weeks now Eren has taken to going about Jean’s apartment sans pants whenever he’s over, and Jean appreciates his unobstructed view of those long and slender legs tangled beneath him. He’s already sweating, maybe it’s the beer, but Eren looks as enticing as a virgin is to a maneater, all red lips and quick breaths. He ducks to catch one of Eren’s soft moans with his mouth as he pinches again, this time with the other hand he’d already slid up Eren’s chest to work on him simultaneously. And work on him he does.

Eren isn’t just letting Jean have his way with him, though; he nudges his knee up to graze Jean’s exposed cock from under his useless robe, hooking Jean close with lithe fingers by the back of his neck. Jean groans at the minute contact, and warmth spreads in a shiver that travels from his head to his groin, half-hard as he ruts down and onto Eren’s thigh, releasing his lips with a sharp hiss as he does.

It’s been a while since Jean has given Eren a good, dark hickey, and so Jean flips Eren’s shirt from that marble torso so he can bring his lips to the junction between neck and shoulder, just above the collarbone to nip there, dart his tongue out to taste the salt of Eren’s rich skin. It seems like a good place to start, Eren responding with a little upward jut of hips that brush Jean’s cock again, and he can’t help but bite down with nearly enough force to break through skin as the moan that escapes Jean is ripped from deep within him. The beer has him ten times more sensitive than usual, surely.

He tongues the fresh teeth marks branded into tan skin, suckling there the way he knows Eren appreciates until he feels Eren reach down for himself, and _no,_ not tonight, not when Jean’s in control. He catches Eren’s slim wrist and pulls back to smirk down at Eren, plush lips pursed in confusion.

“You don’t get to do that tonight,” Jean clarifies. He guides Eren’s hand to touch himself instead, wraps warm fingers around the base of his cock and squeezes, directing Eren up and down. It’s a wonder he’s never done this, never forced Eren to grip him just the way he likes, and his entire body wracks in heated shivers as he nudges Eren to thumb the slit, smearing drops of precum around the head.

 _“G-god, fuck-k,”_ Jean stutters, and it’s Eren’s turn to leer as he props himself up with his free arm and brings his lips to Jean’s, still jacking Jean off all the while.

Eren whispers against him, “At this rate, you’re gonna come before you even have a chance to do whatever it is you’re planning.”

And that pretty much does it. Jean releases Eren who releases him in turn, and he slides off the couch only to bend and pick Eren up bridal style, thank fuck for cross-training. The picture they paint is a little ridiculous: Jean’s robe is entirely untied and exposes his dick standing full mast, bouncing off of Eren as he heads for the bedroom, while Eren is clothed only by thin underwear not doing much to hide his own excitement. Of course, Eren is laughing, even as Jean flings him onto the bed that trampolines him before Jean is on him again, lips locked and tongues swirling fast and hot even though Eren is still fighting little giggles hiccupping in his chest.

When they separate to catch their breaths, Eren is still fucking _laughing_ and Jean assumes he has the beer to thank for that.

“Take your stupid robe off,” is Eren’s only demand after he’s calmed down. “Let me look at you.”

Seeing no reason to refuse, Jean peels it off and tosses it somewhere behind him. Eren’s hands are on him again, trailing light fingers down his abs and thatches of blond. He catches his lower lip between his teeth before he returns his purchase on Jean’s aching cock, gives an experimental tug. Okay, so while Jean _really_ enjoys having Eren’s undivided attention, he’s a bit too lucid right now for his liking—prefect time, then, to begin his agenda. He swipes Eren’s hand away and situates himself lower, leaving a trail of hot open-mouthed kisses down Eren’s body as he drops. He pointedly avoids Eren’s manhood, however, leaving his boyfriend high and dry and choosing instead to deliver an ass cheek a firm squeeze through cotton.

“What are you—”

“In the mood to try something new tonight?” Jean interrupts. He supposes it’s not really a question, given their predetermined conditions, but it’s pointless to corner Eren into trying something he’s opposed to. He fully disrobes Eren in one fluid motion, springing Eren’s semi-hard cock free of its confines.

Wary, Eren wonders aloud, “New how…?”

“You’ll like it, trust me,” Jean answers unhurried, and he adores the way his vague response knots Eren’s brows together, gives him this puppy dog expression he doesn’t even know he’s making. He waits for some form of agreement, and a nod later he continues, “Lube me.”

Long and alluring, Eren stretches himself over to rummage through Jean’s nightstand drawer, intimately familiar with the contents inside. Suspicion lurks under sea green as Eren regards Jean, but he passes over the bottle without a word. Lazily, Jean pops the cap open and drizzles the fluid over his fingers, reveling in Eren’s quizzical stare, bubbles of questions bottled beneath a thin farce of indifference. Eren’s reservation is just so fucking adorable it alights in Jean a good-natured smirk as he prepares himself for the damage he’s about to deal.

He places a finger to Eren’s hole, pushing just enough to break through, and Eren’s posturing is abandoned as he _gasps_ in that raspy way he does when he feels the first flutters of arousal. His push forward is gentle, more of a probe than a thrust, coating everything he touches with liberal caresses. He rubs his thumb around the outline of Eren’s rim, too, leans over to bite the inside of his thigh. His eyes are trained on Eren, who dares to keep the contact until Jean’s teeth press harder and he crooks a finger to find that delightful bundle of nerves that send his head snapping back in surrender.

“You’ve f-fingered me,” Eren manages, “before.”

A few thorough and long caresses later, Jean retreats from Eren’s inner thigh long enough to say, “Believe me, we’ve never done this before.” Promptly, he retracts his finger and without giving Eren time to breathe he lowers his mouth to Eren’s hole and thrusts not with fingers but with firm tongue into the tight, surrendering warmth he finds there.

The reaction Eren has is violent and overwhelming.

Jean soothes Eren’s wracking frame with his hands, anchoring his legs splayed wide with a reassuring grip. His perch is not ideal, the angle a touch awkward, so he moves under to prop Eren up a bit by the small of his back supported by sturdy wrists. Unhinged at the deeper exposure, Eren writhes desperately, fists curled in sheets that match the white of his knuckles. Deep gasps of pleasure spilled from Eren’s throat motivate Jean to unravel him further; he wants to see Eren come apart at the seams.

“You like that?” He presses his murmur into Eren’s skin. It’s overkill, he knows, but he also knows Eren likes the sound of his voice. “You like how I tongue fuck your hole, hm?”

He can’t see Eren where he is now, but he can hear the rise and fall of these pleased erotic little sounds Eren makes as Jean returns to making Eren squirm. Jean is louder now, more daring, and starts moaning into Eren’s flesh as he pushes and flicks his tongue and sucks, rubbing circles into the dimples of Eren’s back as he holds him up.

Vague recollections of this being done to him during a time before Eren acts as his guide, tipping him to the maneuvers and tricks he can use to make Eren’s toes curl. Eren will need to be flipped over for that to happen. He leans back a moment to reveal the remarkable view he has of him now, head tipped back and red from face to chest. Eyes flutter open at the loss of contact, and to neither’s surprise there is no longer a thin veil of unconcern masking his expression.

However, unabashed cheek remains. “Thought…thought I wasn’t gonna get to feel good all on my own tonight,” he breathes. Jean can hear in thick syllables and short breath how turned on Eren is right now, and his cock twitches in betrayal.

Jean pulls a knee up, brings it to open lips. “You’re worried about me? How sweet,” he says into olive skin. He plants a kiss to punctuate his sarcasm. “But I am _thoroughly_ enjoying myself so far.” Eren goes even redder.

Smooth and collected, Jean snakes up Eren’s body with lips and teeth and tongue before bringing his forehead to Eren’s at the apex of his journey, cupping the back of Eren’s head one-handedly. They’re breathing each other’s air when Jean says, “Eren, if this gets to be too much or uncomfortable, tell me to stop, okay?”

Their foreheads move in unison with Eren’s nod.

 _Good boy._ Jean doesn’t say it. Instead, “I need you to flip over for me.”

“Oh my god, you’re really doing this.” That being said, Eren rolls himself over, a little lost as to what he should do next. He turns his head to reveal this half-lidded expectant look that Jean drinks in like a deserted man dying of thirst.

Smiling wide, Jean says, “Hell yeah I’m really doing this.” It doesn’t quite fit the mood, but neither of them seem to care, all things considered. He withdraws to where Eren can’t see him anymore. “Ass up.”

Eren makes this choked sound, maybe a laugh, but he does as he’s told (for once, Jean thinks with a quirk of mouth) and raises his hips to a degree that he thinks will suffice. And suffice it does, but Jean is on a mean streak tonight, and it appears Eren is going to take it, lavish in all his sex-driven glory.

“Higher,” Jean demands, followed by a smarting slap to one cheek. He relishes the tiny sound Eren echoes, and relishes more in the minute but indefinite move Eren makes to further raise his ass in the air. His cock gives a jerky throb in agreement.

When Jean begins again, he starts slow. He nibbles at the skin just around his intended target, teasing, reinserting a finger in a moment of tactical inspiration. Not expecting the change of pace, Eren jolts into the mattress, and Jean feels a visceral green glare aimed at him from a place he cannot see.

“Ass—hole, that was—on purpose—” Words betray Eren as Jean returns to brushing against his prostate, continues making marks on the supple curve of Eren’s ass. A few retorts come to mind, some filthy jibes involving Eren’s own asshole; he decides against them, preferring instead to listen uninterrupted to the sharp and heady moans he’s working from him. He pushes his free hand down Eren’s spine, unrushed and with steady pressure, and when Eren drops his hips a fraction Jean pulls out completely to deliver another firm smack to aching skin.

_“Ah, fuck—Jean!”_

The distinct and overwhelming depth of Jean’s own satisfaction is stifling. He has a foggy idea he may be having too much fun with this.

“You make such pretty sounds for me, Eren,” Jean whispers, hoarse with eager lust sprouting to his surface. He lightly traces a bite mark he’s left on one cheek, cups the other with tight fingers and bunches the soft skin there between digits. Dropping an octave, he continues, “I don’t care anymore. Fuck the neighbors. I’m gonna make you scream tonight.”

Eren’s taunt of a reply is muffled by the way his face still pressed down into rumpled sheets. “I’d like to see you try.”

Jean is one for one in challenges tonight. He plans on being two for two by dawn.

When he goes back down, he isn’t slow or hesitant. He thrusts his tongue in without warning, and he moans into the gesture, knowing what the vibration will do to Eren. Sure enough, Eren tenses against him, constricts against the wet and foreign intrusion. Jean massages him, flexing deft fingers against smooth skin to help Eren relax into the sensation. It affects Eren gradually, and Jean is given the range to roam exploratively in stages, allowed centimeters of leeway while Eren adjusts to discomfort and pleasure alike. Hole wet with spit and lube, Jean protrudes deeper, as far as his tongue can go in and out and in again.

There’s a lot of choked swearing, and Eren is apparently trying his damndest to hold good on his end of the challenge, sparking Jean’s admiration. In something of a cheap move, he removes a hand from Eren’s ass to reach around and purchase a grip on Eren’s leaking cock. Without pausing the thrust of his tongue he starts from tip to base, Eren’s precum easing the slow way Jean pumps and twists his grip. Eren tremors viciously around him.

 _“Fffuck, Jean, f-fuck you,”_ Eren hisses, but he’s still not loud enough for Jean’s liking. He gathers a handful of Eren’s ass to spread him more, allowing a deeper push, while he thumbs Eren’s slit with his other hand and finally, _finally_ Eren breaks.

It’s unclear whether Eren’s face is still mashed to the mattress because either way high and forceful screams bearing Jean’s name ricochet off the thin walls of Jean’s bedroom, and he feels a burst of new pleasure ache in his own cock as Eren spills into his hand, onto the sheets. Eren’s legs quiver in spent exertion; he’d stayed up high, just for Jean all this time. Jean coaxes the last of Eren’s climax from him with a tender grip. He plants a kiss to the cheek he’d slapped earlier, a signal that Eren can move now. He flops to his side like his bones are made of water.

Jean’s sadistic streak hasn’t subsided yet, though. “Looks like I win round two,” he says at Eren’s loose form strewn across the bed. Eren just groans and throws his arm over his eyes, like he still can’t believe what Jean has done to him. A flicker of pride alights in his chest; he hasn’t seen Eren this pleased in weeks. Probably since he bought that stupid game.

Language returns quickly to Eren, though, as always. And, as always, he’s tactless. “Oh my _god,”_ he rasps, “who taught you to do that?”

“Eren,” he says, “we’re not done yet.” His own very neglected erection had only become painfully more noticeable with Eren’s release. He wipes dry fingers along Eren’s lips to rouse him. Eren groans again.

“Eren.”

“Okay, okay, just—give me a sec—”

In a feat of sheer willpower, Eren rights himself to look Jean in the eye. He’s still flushed crimson, and his hair is matted with sweat. Jean flattens a kink affectionately.

“So are you expecting me to do the same thing to you, or…” Hesitation belies Eren’s strive to aim for perfection, which in this situation isn’t possible. Jean smirks at the thought of Eren trying to deliver him the same pleasure he’d just experienced, but no, that isn’t exactly what he wants out of him tonight.

“No, that’s not what we’re gonna do next,” Jean says. “Instead,” in quick movements he brings himself to his knees and cups the back of Eren’s head to force it forward, eye-level with his cock, “you’re going to shut up and do _exactly_ what I say.”

Jean won the bet, after all. Eren smirks, understanding entirely.

“Right. You won the bet.”

“Start sucking, Eren.”

Delicious heat surrounds him as Eren does just that, starting at the head. When he starts going down, Jean realizes he hadn’t fully grasped what Jean meant.

Twisting a fistful of Eren’s hair, Jean says, “Stop. Swirl your tongue around my head.”

Eren freezes for a half second, muscles tense as if he’s deliberating refusal, but then he goes back up, does what he’s told. The authority Jean holds over Eren, unruly and unheeding as he is at all other times (especially in bed), feels almost as amazing as Eren’s mouth does on his cock. Little vibrations spark up and down his spine, and he lets go of a moan as Eren continues to do exactly as he’s told, keeps his mouth working just as Jean wants him to. If the handjob he’d directed on the couch lit a fire within Jean, he is now the sun.

“Look up, Eren. Go down now. Slowly. Don’t stop your tongue,” Jean corrects as Eren drops with haste—he’s never slow when it comes to things like this, but he obeys, and he gazes with lewd impudence at Jean as he presses the wet heat of his mouth down and laps around with gracious pressure, firing the sensitive nerves of the underside of Jean’s cock. Despite himself, he bucks into it with a low moan, and he hits the back of Eren’s throat, causing a gag, but he doesn’t retreat. Jean watches tears swell under delicate green.

“God, Eren, what am I going to do with you?” he murmurs. His soft tone does little to prepare Eren for what he says next. “Take me in all the way and hold.”

This time Eren doesn’t hesitate to submit. To make things even hotter he swallows slow, an order Jean had forgotten to include, until he’s nuzzling Jean’s taut stomach. Jean chokes out something guttural, his cock firmly lodged in Eren’s throat. His hands are clasped to the back of Eren’s head again, and he wades in the pleasure of being fully sheathed in Eren, who is choking around him, and even _that_ makes his entire body ring with desire for release.

“Not— _fuck,_ not yet—stay there—” Jean is coming apart himself, and he can’t help a round of repetitive jerks impossibly forward. _“God_ Eren, you’re so _good_ to me, you’re fucking _perfect—”_ Thick tears finally spill along sun kissed cheeks, and Jean decides it’s time to let Eren go. Freed of Jean’s ironclad grip, Eren lurches back and gasps for air between bouts of coughs.

They aren’t finished, but Jean lets Eren collect himself before they resume. It takes him a minute, which isn’t surprising: Jean had been in there for what, fifteen seconds, maybe twenty? It’s a long time to have a cock halfway down your throat. Although he’s a spluttering, teary mess, Eren rounds a heated look on Jean.

“How long have you been wanting to do that,” Eren accuses.

Jean pulls Eren by the chin, guides him back to his unfinished business. “Since we started dating, probably. Does wonders in shutting you up.”

A smirk. “Fucking prick.”

“Oh, shut up and get back on my cock.

Eren doesn’t take his eyes off Jean as he does this time, and he looks positively wrecked, tearstained and filthy with spit and precum dribbling from the corners of his mouth. He loses his ability to concoct any more flimsy orders after he tells Eren to turn his head when he goes down, and on the edge of release he suddenly takes Eren by the hair and forces him to take it all the way again. His entire body curves around Eren’s mouth as he spills into him hot and heavy, expletives and Eren’s name loud and synonymous from his lips as he comes.

The unfortunate moment to release Eren comes, and he jerks completely onto his back this time as he’s wracked with coughs. Comedown hits Jean quickly and he’s on Eren in an instant to make sure he’s not actually choking

“Never betting with you _ever_ again,” Eren grinds out, alerting Jean to the fact that he is, indeed, just fine. Jean kisses him full on the mouth, unperturbed by the sticky mess he’s created there. It’s a satisfying kiss that lasts until Eren finally throws Jean off of him, declaring he needs to wash up, all the while cursing video games and cheap shitty beer.

* * *

As something of an apology, Jean makes Eren’s favorite breakfast the next morning: egg white scramble with avocado, whole wheat toast, and coffee with cream and two teaspoons of sugar. For his efforts, he receives a slap on the ass and a peck on the cheek in return. They talk about anything but _Outlast,_ subjects ranging from Jean’s psychology research paper to Eren’s sister’s upcoming ballet recital. All is well in their world.

The fallout hits when Jean goes to the trash out. Sure enough, he runs into his next-door neighbor, a short and cross looking man who glares pins and needles at him through narrow eyes.

“Next time take it to your boyfriend’s place,” he spits. “My husband and I got _zero fucking sleep_ last night, and not in the fun way.” His point made, he wrenches the door to his own apartment open and slams it shut, leaving Jean rattled in his wake.

All things considered, at least it isn’t an eviction notice.

**Author's Note:**

> Levi and Erwin live in a shitty apartment because Erwin is a public-school history teacher and Levi is a janitor. They do be working at the same school though <3
> 
> When I started writing this they were just supposed to bone and the bet was who gets to top but then I thought ayo couldn’t we spice this up somehow? And then rimming became the answer. And then a wordy blowjob. I think I am very slowly getting used to writing smut, lol.
> 
> I have another oneshot/drabble/idfk planned for this little series, and not just because I want to actually try writing an alternate universe meet-the-siblings awkwardness extravaganza fic, no, that would be ridiculous! (I may or may not really, *really* want to attempt to write my own Zeke.)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed and as always, thank you for reading!


End file.
